


the monte carlo vigilante squad

by altissimozucca



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Charles got involved with the mafia, M/M, Max and Dan are worried about their roommate, This is a Batfamily/Baby Driver inspired work, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altissimozucca/pseuds/altissimozucca
Summary: There was a loud sound of smashing glass breaking the silence of the October night.Max woke up with a start, eyes wide as he jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room of the flat he shared with his two flatmates, Daniel and Charles, only to see the former crouching next to the latter, who was groaning in pain at the chestnut flooring.A puddle of blood was forming underneath Charles, making Max’s lips turn down in worry for his flatmate and friend.“What happened?” the Dutchman questioned, joining Dan next to the Monègasque retail worker (and a part-time criminal, but Max didn’t know that). Daniel shook his head in response, frowning as the youngest of them passed out, blood oozing from the wound on his side.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell, Charles Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen, Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	the monte carlo vigilante squad

**There was a** loud sound of smashing glass breaking the silence of the October night.

Max woke up with a start, eyes wide as he jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room of the flat he shared with his two flatmates, Daniel and Charles, only to see the former crouching next to the latter, who was groaning in pain at the chestnut flooring.

A puddle of blood was forming underneath Charles, making Max’s lips turn down in worry for his flatmate and friend.

“What happened?” the Dutchman questioned, joining Dan next to the Monègasque retail worker (and a part-time criminal, but Max didn’t know that). Daniel shook his head in response, frowning as the youngest of them passed out, blood oozing from the wound on his side.

“How should I know?” the Aussie replied, eyes narrowed as he carefully observed the man on the ground. Max sighed, standing up and going into the kitchen where they kept the first-aid kit underneath the kitchen sink. He returned, once again kneeling next to the younger man and pushing away the shirt he was wearing.

Max bit his lip at the sight of the wound on the young Monègasque. “He got stabbed,” he stated, already preparing to stitch the cut up as Dan lit the area with the flash of his phone. “Fucking idiot,” Max couldn’t help but mumble.

He carefully began closing the wound, whistling a tune as his fingers did the work he’d gotten so accustomed to after stitching himself up almost every night; sometimes he helped Dan out, too, but the Aussie was skilled enough to do it himself.

“What’d he break?” Max questioned, mentioning the sound that woke him up at first. Daniel looked at him in disbelief before pointing to his right, where a pile of broken glass laid scattered all over the floor; it was then that Max noticed the slight breeze in the room from the hole where once a window stood. “He’s so paying for that, I don’t care. And explaining it to the landlord,” the Dutchman concluded, not wanting to think about how or why Charles had managed to break the window.

Once he finally fixed the Monègasque up, Daniel helped Max carry the younger man into his bedroom and laid him down on the bed. Max brought him a glass of water and some painkillers for when he woke up and then left to the kitchen where Dan was pouring himself a shot of whiskey.

“Want one?” he offered to Max, who declined and slid into a barstool at the kitchen island, putting his head into his hands. Daniel leant across from him, standing up and downing the drink; Max made a grimace at the sight.

“How can you drink that? It tastes horrible,” he commented, disgust obvious in his voice. Dan simply shrugged in response, putting the bottle back into the drink cabinet that was most of the time emptied by either him or the Dutchman.

The two friends were left in silence, both thinking about the third who was passed out in his bedroom, most likely in pain. Max sighed, moving towards the broken window and looking down at the beautiful stretch of Monte Carlo that he’d grown so accustomed to over the past years.

When he first arrived to Monaco, he was just a wannabe photographer with a dream to become something more; nowadays, he shot celebrities and various models during the day and jumped across rooftops during the night, something that became a part of his daily – or, well, _nightly_ – routine and something he shared with Dan, while Charles was kept out of the vigilante life.

He was too sweet and innocent to get dragged into it, after all.

Daniel wasn’t supposed to, either, but one time Max came home – back when it was just the two of them living together – beaten to a pulp and so he searched help from his nurse friend, who cured him back to life and became adamant about joining his friend and Max couldn’t decline him. He was stubborn and persistent – just like the Dutchman, but even more.

So, most of the time they split patrol, but if there was some big event or gala happening, they’d be out together; Daniel was supposed to be out on patrol this night, too, and Max remembered that suddenly, turning to look at the Aussie who had been staring at his friend for a while.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be out!” Max whisper-yelled, causing Daniel’s eyes to widen and slap himself across the face.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. I was out and then I saw Charles getting stabbed in an alley and so I followed him to see if I’d need to help and then he broke the window and yeah…” the older man trailed off. Max couldn’t help but groan.

“So, what you’re saying is that you could’ve stopped the window getting broken, but didn’t?”

Dan scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “If you say it like that, yeah.” Max shut his eyes tightly, counting to ten before pointing at the mess in the living room.

“For that, you’re cleaning that up.” Daniel moved to protest, but Max just raised his hand and stopped him. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

\- - - -

Charles woke up in pain, his side aching badly for some reason; he groggily tried to sit up, but the pain was too great and so he rolled onto his other side and tried to remember what happened last night. As images slowly began forming back in his brain, he groaned out, _“Merde,_ they’ll kill me.”

The door to his bedroom opened and Charles felt cold dread washing over him, scared of the reaction from his roommates. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the inevitable, _“We know what you do, Charles.”_ But it never came.

Instead, he felt a warm hand pressed against his forehead and slowly, the Monègasque opened his eyes for the second time that morning and found himself looking at Max, whose eyebrows were twisted in worry, lips tugged into a frown. He tried to smile a little but grimaced as sharp pain shot up his body from how he moved his body.

“Easy, easy, you don’t want to strain yourself,” Max spoke softly, patting Charles’ forehead with his index and middle fingers. He sat at the edge of the bed, helping Charles move into a semi-sitting position and took the pills he left on Charles’ bedside table the previous night along with a cup of fresh water. “Drink these, it’ll dull the pain.”

“Thanks,” Charles mumbled in reply, gratefully reaching for the painkillers and drowning them with such ferocity it made Max chuckle. They sat in silence for a while, Max observing his friend with a serious expression.

“You scared us, you know?” he spoke up, causing Charles to cast his eyes downwards. “I had to stitch you up.”

“Why not Dan?” Charles asked confusedly, eliciting a bemused look on the Dutchman’s face. Max sheepishly rubbed his chin, shrugging.

“I forgot he’s a nurse, to be honest,” he replied, making Charles chuckle and then groan out in pain. Max stood up, rubbing Charles’ forehead. “Go back to sleep and then we’ll talk about what happened.”

He left the room soon after, closing the dark, thick curtains they forgot about when putting Charles into bed before leaving and shutting the door quietly. Charles was left in silence, thinking about what to say to his friends.

It wasn’t his fault that he turned into one of the most wanted criminals of Monte Carlo; really, it wasn’t. He was minding his business at the pier one evening when a man ran into him, causing Charles to act out of instinct and push the man into the salty sea, ruining his thousand-pounds worth suit and the briefcase of cash he’d been carrying.

The man – Lewis, he introduced himself – wanted Charles to compensate for the damage he’d done and so the young Monègasque found himself getting dragged into a weird mixture of British-Spanish mafia and doing their dirty work quietly, without anyone ever suspecting the quiet and soft-spoken boy. Charles knew he could’ve refused, but that would’ve probably ended up with him getting thrown into the clear waters of Monaco bay.

He very much preferred to live.

And so, Charles Leclerc found himself getting dragged into the mafia, earning himself the nickname the Driver because he was the best at getting away out of all of them; Lewis had been so impressed, he wanted to keep Charles in his clutches forever, even though the deal was for the Monègasque to remain until he paid off his debt of 124 million pounds.

In a world like theirs, money flowed like a waterfall, at a lightning speed and Charles knew that, despite the amount being incredibly high, it would get paid off in two years at most – two months have already passed since he’d done the first job; Charles had another problem, though.

That problem came in the form of his two roommates and vigilantes – who both didn’t know Charles knew their secret; a part of him felt sad that they’ve not trusted him with the secret, but he also knew their reasoning. The bigger fish to fry was the fact that they were completely unaware that the _big, great notorious Driver_ they’ve been working so hard to find actually lived under the same roof as them.

Talk about a mess of a situation.

Charles shut his eyes, trying to think of a lie that would satisfy the upcoming questions he already knew: “What were you doing out so late?”_ Going for a walk (with two-hundred thousand worth of pounds in an envelope underneath my shirt)_ “How did you get stabbed?” _With a knife (because I had to tell the guy that the Boss doesn’t want to get involved in a deal with him) _“How did you manage to get back into the flat without bleeding out?” _I climbed up the fire escape (and broke the window, but you already know that, I don’t know why I’m keeping that from you)._

He couldn’t help but groan, cursing himself for ever thinking he’s had a boring life. He wanted boring now that he got to experience the not-so-boring part of living; Charles loved driving fast cars and all, but not when he had half of the Monègasque police force at his tail.

Turning to his healthy side, Charles tried to fall asleep once again. Exhaustion from everything going on in his life at the moment kicked in, easily lulling the Monègasque boy back to sleep.

\- - - -

The conversation had gone by just as Charles expected; both Max and Dan fussed over him for a while before eventually realizing that Charles wasn’t an invalid and was able to do things on his own and then they left him alone, both of them going to fulfil their daily duties.

A few days later, Charles was getting a call-up from Lewis, his burner phone ringing ominously in the pocket of his hoodie. The Monègasque sighed, excusing himself from dinner and shutting himself in his bedroom before answering the call, knowing he must’ve made Nico - Lewis’ second-in-command – at least slightly irritated for waiting so long.

_“Monday, five o’clock sharp, don’t be late,”_ the German said curtly before hanging up, leaving Charles to stare at the screen in quiet resignation. Nico Rosberg was the bane of Charles’ existence, a thorn in his eye, a – whichever other metaphor people used. Nico seemed to despise Charles, for some reason; he always searched for any indication that the Monègasque had done something wrong so he could tattle to Lewis like the _big boy_ he is.

Most of the time, Lewis just rolled his eyes and waved him off, to Charles and everyone else’s pure and utter amusement; there was one time that Carlos snorted loudly, earning the stink-eye and the worst jobs for the week.

The Monègasque shivered at the thought of the upcoming job, not wanting to do it but knowing his life and the lives of both Max and Daniel were on the line; there was no doubt Lewis knew about is closest friends, with Antonio as his main spy and hitman.

Quickly he collected himself, joining Max back at the kitchen table and swirling his food on his plate. He could feel the Dutchman’s worried gaze on him, making his gut clench with guilt. Max eventually nudged Charles’ foot with his own under the table, making the Monègasque look up at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, earning a deep sigh from Charles.

“Nothing,” the younger boy mumbled, putting a piece of chicken in his mouth and forcefully chewing, even though the food tasted like nothing to him at a time like that; he knew he had to at least pretend to be eating if he wanted Max to believe there was nothing going on. “I’m just tired,” Charles lied, making Max nod in understanding.

“Go get some rest then. You’re still weak from losing blood, probably,” he spoke, eating his own food slowly, despite his ever-there appetite screaming for him to just pour it all down his throat at once. He had some self-control – at least that’s what he told himself.

Charles nodded, standing up and offering the rest of his meal to Max, who shrugged and put the untouched food onto his own plate and wished Charles good night; Charles’ gut was twisting as he got into his bedroom, knowing he’d end up just staring at the ceiling for hours without getting any sleep.

After finishing the food, Max put the empty plates in the sink and sat on the couch with his laptop in his lap, scrolling through Reddit for a while before his phone buzzed. It was Lando – a friend and the eyes and the ears of the whole vigilante operation in Monaco – who texted him, telling him to check his e-mails.

Logging into his Gmail account, Max frowned at the files the young Brit sent him. The only message there was next to it was a very vague _I think you should see this_ without anything else. Max downloaded the files, opening the first photo and squinting at the screen as he tried to make out what exactly caused Lando to worry.

It looked like a screenshot of security footage of the traffic cameras, showing a sleek, black Ferrari on the streets. Max’s frown deepened as he recognized it from one of the most recent escapades of the Silver Arrows, the biggest mafia in Monte Carlo. “What’s this got to do with anything?” he wondered aloud, texting Lando the same thing.

_‘Check the driver mate’_

Max opened the other photo, on which the face of the driver was clearly shown and – even though a pair of dark sunglasses hid his eyes – the Dutchman easily recognized the man behind the wheel; Max blinked once, then twice, trying to connect the dots in his brain about how in the world had Charles gotten involved with the most notorious gang in Monaco.

He shut his laptop, rubbing his temples with his index fingers and muttered, “That boy is going to be the death of me, I swear.” His first instinct was to march into Charles’ room and ask his friend what the fuck was going on, but he opted for texting Dan instead, telling him they need to talk about something when he gets back from work.

Max spent the rest of the evening chewing his lip so much it began bleeding, eyes locked on Charles’ bedroom door and the front door, waiting for whoever would get out first; he seemed to have luck, because it was Daniel who entered the flat sooner than Charles got out of his room and Max let out a sigh of relief, not knowing what he’d say to his younger flatmate.

Dan noticed the worried look on Max’s face, immediately frowning and sitting down next to the Dutchman, pulling him into a side hug. “What’s wrong?” the Aussie asked, nudging Max’s side slightly.

“Charles,” Max sighed, leaning into Daniel’s embrace. “I’m worried about Charles,” he muttered. Daniel hummed in response, asking why, “I need to show you something.” Max took his laptop from the coffee table, opening the photos Lando sent him.

Daniel’s frown deepened as he realized what was going on. “So, you’re saying Charles got involved with the Silver Arrows? Our Charles? Who refused to call the exterminator on the mouse we had in January, and lured him out and took him back into the wild instead? _That_ Charles?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’d make sense, in a way,” Max said. “He’s been more stressed out lately. I thought it was because of work, but this makes perfect sense.”

“So, why don’t we go and ask him if he really is part of the mafia?” Dan asked after a while, causing Max to roll his eyes.

“He won’t tell us openly. We can only try and show him he can trust is with a thing like this if we don’t want him getting mad at us.” Dan sighed, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. “We’ve been working to bring the Arrows down for quite some time… we could ask Carlos to keep an eye out on Charles.”

“I’ll tell Lando to ask him,” Dan muttered, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He leant back into the couch, letting out a surprised noise when Max laid over his lap and cuddled into him but smiled softly, treading his fingers through the Dutchman’s hair. “It’ll all work out, Maxy. Don’t worry.”

\- - - -

Lando Norris was a boy of many talents: videogaming, making bad life decisions, cooking 1-minute rice in 58 seconds… truly, a talent. But there was one thing he was famous for in the tight world of Monte Carlo’s night-time guardians and that was his ability to find out anything they wanted in less than five minutes; that’s how he got involved with the so-called Icefamily, all because he tried to hack the files of Kimi Räikkönen’s lair computer and got caught.

It was the Lion who sought him out one evening, asking him what does he think he’s doing; Lando was scared shitless, honestly, but who wouldn’t be if the boldest and the worst tempered vigilante out of the lot cornered you in a dark alleyway and the only thing you had to defend yourself was a pack of Hubba Bubba.

_“Please don’t hurt me,” Lando said to the black-clad man standing in front of him, the infamous minimalist lion logo standing proudly in orange across his chest. He was one of the ones wearing a simple domino to hide his features, usually all moves and jumps so no one was able to figure out his identity – other than Lando, who now regretted ever getting that idea._

_The Lion looked confused for a moment, the eskrima stick he held against Lando’s throat wavering a little before he regained his composure and spoke lowly, “What do you want with the Iceman’s files?” His voice was threatening, making Lando squirm a little under his tight hold._

_“I – uh…” he trailed off, not knowing how to explain the fascination he felt for Monaco’s own vigilante squad; when he noticed the frown on Max’s face deepening, he cowered into himself some more. “Do you want some Hubba Bubba?” Lando squeaked out, causing Max to let go of him and stare at him in bewilderment._

_“What?! No!” the Lion replied hastily, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I’m trying to intimidate you and you offer me bubblegum, what the fuck?” Lando frowned, shrugging._

_“To answer your oh-so-nicely asked question, I was just bored. I don’t want anything to do with the Iceman’s files,” the Brit replied, moving past Max who just stood there sheepishly once he realized Lando was telling the truth. He smiled at the vigilante, taking a piece of paper he’d been keeping in his pocket for so long with his number scribbled on it and gave it to Max. “If you guys ever need some help, just call me.”_

_“Thanks,” Max replied quietly, stuffing the piece of paper into his utility belt; he looked at Lando, who held out a Hubba Bubba container in his hand and rolled his eyes, taking that, too. Lando turned around, leaving the alleyway with a small wave and then taking off into a sprint once he heard the offended shout of the vigilante, who realized the container was empty._

Lando grinned, remembering the furious look he got from Max next time they’ve seen each other; Daniel, on the other hand, high-fived the nineteen-year-old Brit and earned himself a slap on the back of his head from Valtteri, the new Iceman who took over once Kimi retired last year.

They’ve given Lando the full equipment and the became the eyes and the ears of the operation; nicknamed the Oracle, he was truly the most feared of the lot, which turned out funny when you realized he was a scrawny nineteen-year-old eating crisps 90-percent of the time. His ability to capture and hack into anything was amazing, though, and everybody respected that.

When Lando was creating the files about the Silver Arrows’ latest robbery, he wasn’t expecting to see Charles, whom he met briefly few times before, at the driver’s seat of the black _Pista_. When he realized who it was, he immediately texted Max knowing that there had to have been something wrong with the whole thing.

Charles was nice and kind, and he made Lando hot chocolate one time he visited Max and Dan about a recent drug bust; he was completely oblivious to the whole thing, but still didn’t question what Lando was doing at their flat at twelve at night with a bright-orange folder tucked under his arm.

That’s why Lando decided to try and help the others help Charles; he had connections with the Silver Arrows (in the form of his boyfriend Carlos, who was the nephew of Fernando, who was the ex-boss of the mafia before getting pushed out by Lewis) and he planned to put them to good use. Carlos was one of the members of the gang who wanted Lewis out and wanted to get out themselves, hence why he secretly gave information to Lando which then got to Monte Carlo’s vigilante squad.

He walked down to Carlos’ one evening, hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie with music playing on his headphones. Just as he was entering the building using the spare key Carlos had given him, he saw Nico Rosberg walking out, scowling at nothing. Lando had to supress the urge to scoff at the German and hurriedly rushed to his boyfriend’s flat.

When he got in, Carlos was laying on the couch and watching telly, a football match between Real Madrid and Malaga playing on the screen. He smiled at Lando once he noticed him, opening his arms and cuddling the younger man closer, kissing his forehead.

“Hey,” the Spaniard spoke softly, nuzzling Lando who sighed in contentment. The Brit greeted him back, tucking himself underneath Carlos’ chin and breathing in his smell. “What’s up?” he asked, knowing that Lando had a reason for coming.

“Why didn’t you tell me Charles was in the Arrows?” Lando questioned, not moving from his position in Carlos’ arms. The older man sighed, tightening his hold.

“I didn’t know you know him,” he replied, kissing the top of Lando’s head softly. Lando hummed in delight. “If I’d known, I would’ve told you. He’s one of the guys Lewis brings out only when there’s a big thing coming so I never paid him much attention,” Carlos continued.

“How did he get in even?” Lando muttered, mostly to himself, but Carlos heard him.

“From what I know, he somehow got into a mess with the Boss directly. I think he ruined a huge amount of money… and Lewis is not someone who forgives and forgets, so Charles has to pay off the debt he made,” he answered Lando’s question. _Okay, that makes sense,_ the Brit thought. “How do you know Charles?”

“He’s Max and Daniel’s roommate. He’s way too nice to be in a gang so we’re all worried about him…” Lando trailed off, looking at Carlos expectantly, “Could you please keep an eye out on him?” Carlos sighed, but nodded.

“For you, I will. But I can’t promise something won’t happen to him… we’re not invincible.” Lando just cuddled closer to Carlos. “And what do you mean he’s too nice? Are you saying I’m not nice?” Carlos teased, causing Lando to groan.

“You’re the nicest,” the Brit replied, capturing his boyfriend’s lips in a soft kiss. Carlos whined a little when Lando pulled away, pulling him into another, more heated kiss.

\- - - -

If there was one thing Nico Rosberg was known for, it was his ability to keep a levelled head; truly, he was a on-the-ground sort of person, never stuck the clouds and he thought of himself as a realist. He was observant, intelligent and aware of everything happening around him, which was why Lewis made him his second-in-command, even though the Brit wasn’t the German’s biggest fan.

Then he met Charles Leclerc, the soft-spoken, kind boy who got dragged into the mess by Lewis himself and it made Nico scoff, the amount of protection and respect from the Boss that the Monègasque _boy_ had earned in the few months working for Lewis. Already did Lewis cherish Charles, forming plans to keep him in the mafia even after he pays off his debt.

That made Nico’s blood boil, made him want to order Antonio to just get rid of Charles one night, but the German knew he would be the main suspect; it was no secret that the German longed for his Boss’ attention and to see someone else have it… well, anything he could do would lead back to him.

So he searched for any indication Charles wasn’t loyal instead, something he could bring to Lewis so that the Brit would get rid of Charles himself. It was highly unlikely, because Charles was _perfect,_ Charles always listened, always obeyed the rules and Nico knew he’d have to dig hard and deep to find some dirt on Charles.

During one of their busts, he’d seen Carlos talking to the young Monègasque and instantly frowned, aware of the fact that the Spaniard wasn’t Lewis’ biggest fan after the Brit pushed Carlos’ uncle Fernando out of the business; Nico thought Carlos should’ve been grateful he got the offer to stay, as many others did not even get that.

The two youngsters seemed friendly enough, with Carlos looking worriedly at Charles the next few hours; Nico’s observation skills came to good use, too, when he noticed the two of them often looking at the German while talking.

Later that evening, Nico decided to go to Lewis. He knocked on the door of the Boss’ office, waiting to be let in; to his surprise, it was the man himself who opened the door and not one of his bodyguards. He grinned when he saw Nico, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into the room. “Nico, my friend, how are you?” he asked, pouring a glass of what looked like some pretty expensive whiskey for the German and then one for himself.

“I’m not here to drink, Lewis,” Nico started, earning an eyeroll from his boss.

“Always working, aren’t you? Relax a little, enjoy life. It’s a nice evening. We got our money; we got our dough… what more would a man want?” Nico looked at his boss sceptically, not believing this was the same uptight Lewis he sees on daily occasion.

Deciding to just go for it, Nico spoke, “I think Leclerc is planning something, along with the Sainz kid. They’ve been awfully cosy the past few days.”

Lewis couldn’t help but sigh, “Again with that?” Nico scowled, making Lewis let out another sigh, seeing true worry in his friend. “I’ll keep an eye on him, if it makes you calm,” he promised, earning a grateful nod from Nico.

\- - - -

Max has been having trouble sleeping, his worry about Charles making him restless. The twenty-three-year-old couldn’t help but feel like a parent to the only slightly younger man, who was much younger in mental age than actual. Max found himself staring at Charles more often, frowning at the bags under the Monègasque’s eyes and the clear exhaustion written on his face.

He began contemplating just confronting Charles but decided against that because – while he was kind and sweet – Charles would get defensive easily when talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, often shutting himself out from them and everything else. The last time that happened frightened both Max and Daniel so much they decided to never push his buttons again.

Max was out on patrol, swinging around Monte Carlo with Pierre at his side; the helmeted vigilante didn’t talk much, playing with his handguns as they zipped over the rooftops in search for criminal activity.

They stopped on one taller building, just looking at the panorama stretching out in front of them; Pierre took off his helmet, running a hand through his unruly hair, his eyes covered by a domino similar to Max’s own. The Lion snorted, earning a shove from his friend.

“Only you would wear a mask underneath a mask, Mask,” Max teased, poking the Frenchman’s domino with his finger before yelping as he got elbowed into his gut. “That hurt,” he grunted, taking a deep breath.

“It was supposed to,” Pierre retorted, moving away from Max and spreading his arms, eliciting another snort from his comrade. “What are you laughing at?”

“I thought about how you’d look falling down,” Max replied, sitting at the edge of the rooftop. Pierre chuckled, sitting next to him and nudging his friend with his side.

“How’s Charles?” the Frenchman asked, earning a sigh from Max; the Dutchman knew the two of them were childhood friends, but grew apart slightly throughout the years. Nonetheless, they talked and hung out sometimes, but Pierre often felt Charles was pushing him away.

“He’s… ah,” Max groaned in reply, putting his head into his hands. “I’m worried about him. I feel like I’ve said that so many times, but it’s true.”

“You’re turning into Kimi,” Pierre teased, trying to lighten the mood. “He’ll be okay, Max, don’t worry. If someone can get themselves out of the mess they created, it’s Charles.” Max nodded, still tense and rigid.

Their attention was brought to the nearby alley where they heard a familiar voice arguing with someone; sharing a look, Pierre quickly put his helmet back on his head as Max sprinted across the rooftop and jumped down, landing in the perfect superhero posture and grinning to himself at the accomplishment.

He could feel Pierre landing next to him, the two vigilantes staring at their Monègasque and Aussie friends; from what they could see, Daniel was trying to stop Charles from doing something while the Monègasque was trying to wiggle out of his hold. Max contemplated turning around and leaving them to it, but noticed the genuine fear spreading across Charles’ face so he stepped in.

“HB, leave him alone,” he spoke sternly, catching Dan’s attention. The Aussie then seemed to notice how shaken Charles became and let go of him, apologizing. “What’s going on?”

The yellow-and-black clad vigilante scoffed, throwing a bag of what looked like cocaine at Max, who let it land on the ground. “Ask him,” he said, pointing at the Monègasque who pushed himself against the wall, trying to blend with the shadows. “I was just trying to stop him from doing something he’ll regret.”

Max, quickly realizing what’s going on, pulled the Aussie vigilante away and smacked him across the head. “What did I say to you? Fuck, Dan, you know he’s like a doe,” he groaned, moving closer to Charles and grabbing his shoulders.

“So much about secret identities,” Dan grumbled, picking up the bag from the floor and placing it into his utility belt. Max rolled his eyes, but his focus was on Charles who looked like he was going to cry.

The younger man tried to wiggle out of his hold, but Max cemented his grip, staring straight into Charles’ green eyes. “Let’s go home,” the Dutchman spoke softly, pulling both Charles and Dan after him, looking at Pierre, “Can you finish the patrol by yourself?” Pierre nodded, zipping away while the three roommates slowly made their way towards their flat.

They walked in silence, with Max dragging the other two; they entered through the fire escape, climbing through the window which Charles broke and had fixed after a few days. Once they were safely in the confinement of their flat, Max pulled the blinds down and motioned for the other two to sit on the couch.

He sat next to them, taking off his domino and wincing as the glue separated from the soft skin of his face; Dan followed suit, taking off his cowl and ruffling his hair while Charles pulled his knees up to his chest, placing his chin on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” it was him who spoke first, voice so quiet that neither Max nor Dan wouldn’t have heard him had it not been for the tense silence surrounding them; as soon as he said the words, a cry fell past his lips and tears started streaming down his cheeks, making Max pull him into his side.

“Oh, Charles,” the Dutchman sighed out, rubbing his hand over the younger’s arm comfortingly. “We know what’s going on and we’ll help you get out,” he tried to comfort Charles, but only caused him to sob harder; Max look at Dan with pleading eyes, earning an eyeroll, but the Aussie pulled the Monègasque into his arms nonetheless.

“The Iceman is working on bringing down Lewis, don’t worry. We all are,” Dan spoke softly, cradling Charles as if he were a baby. Max brought him a glass of water, once he finally calmed down enough to drink.

He stared at the glass in his hands, all face void of emotion but his eyes, which showed great sadness as he moved them upwards to look at firstly Dan then at Max. When he spoke, his voice was croaked and quiet, “Please help me.”

The three friends remained there for the rest of the night, blissfully unaware of an Italian hitman watching the whole exchange. Antonio’s face was hard, emotionless, as he dug out a burner phone and dialled his Boss’ number.

“Sir, Rosberg was right.”

\- - - -

If there was one thing Lewis Hamilton despised, it was traitors; the Brit couldn’t imagine what could bring someone to betray another person, a person they pretended to like through years. Some might call him a hypocrite, but it was different in Lewis’ case; he never did like Fernando and never hid his distaste for the Spanish man.

Traitors were the biggest scum on Earth, in Lewis’ eyes. He was a man who valued loyalty, valued true comradery and when he found out that the apple of his eye, his Charles - across whom he crossed so coincidentally – was betraying him, there were no words which could describe the rage of Lewis Hamilton.

The first person he called was Nico Rosberg, the one true constant in his life, and he told him the news. Nico was overjoyed, obviously, for being right, and so Lewis arranged for the German to punish the traitorous Monègasque, torture him until he broke because traitors don’t deserve fast and painless deaths.

When Charles woke up, legs and arms bound tight against the uncomfortable wooden chair he was sitting on, Lewis Hamilton was standing in front of him, expression unreadable; it made Charles gulp down in fear, used to the Brit being over-emotional.

“So, you think you can double cross me and get away with it?” His voice was like his face, void of emotion and sharp like a knife; the sound made Charles look down, but his chin was forced up by the man in front of him, now glaring at him as he yelled, “Answer me!”

Charles winced at the loud noise, causing Lewis to stop and smirk. The dark look that crossed his face caused Charles’ blood to run cold, and when he called for Nico to come down, there was unmistakable dread showing on the Monègasque’s face.

When Rosberg came into the room, Lewis motioned towards the twenty-three-year-old bound in the room and spoke coldly, “Have fun, Nico,” before leaving the room and in there, a terrified Charles Leclerc in Nico Rosberg’s mercy.

On the other side of Monte Carlo, Max Verstappen was running hastily around their flat, trying to figure out where their friend disappeared to. Daniel Ricciardo was calmer, stating that Charles had probably gone out to calm himself down, but it felt wrong to Max.

It was sometime later that they got a call from Lando, the Brit breathless and sobbing as he told them Carlos said that Lewis had Charles but didn’t know where; Max’s breath hitched in his throat and Dan’s indifference turned into worry. He pulled Max into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“We have to find him,” Max whispered brokenly. “Dan, he’s going to kill him.”

“It’s not like Lewis to kill _traitors,”_ the word tasted bitter on his tongue, talking about Charles. It was true that Lewis didn’t kill traitors, but most of the time they died from the wounds and horror inflicted on them and both Max and Daniel knew that. “I’ll call Valtteri, he’ll know what to do,” Dan continued, letting go of Max as the Dutchman nodded and grabbed his own phone.

“I’ll get in touch with Commissioner Horner, prepare him for the mess,” Max said, dialling the man who he thought of as a father; Christian Horner embraced the vigilante help, even though most advised him not to. The vigilantes did what the police couldn’t do and the man knew there was no way to stop them.

While Max talked to Commissioner Horner, Dan called the rest of the Monte Carlo vigilante squad for help. Valtteri was quick to reply, saying that the full family will do their best to get Charles back, knowing how much the younger man meant to a lot of members of the squad, even if he wasn’t one himself.

Later in the day, they all got together in the lair; they were all searching security footage from the city, trying to find any sign of where Lewis could’ve been holding Charles. Even retired Kimi helped them go through the evidence, joined by his husband Sebastian who worriedly looked at the exhausted youngsters. The German pulled Max into a hug, knowing it was him who was hit the hardest as he felt responsible for Charles, in a way.

They were broken out of their reverie by the security alarm going off, a robotic female voice loudly repeating _Intruder Alert_ and causing them to switch to the security camera at the entrance to the lair. In entered Fernando Alonso in the flesh, looking grim but better than ever as he found he enjoyed retirement (even though forced) very much.

“What’s with the long faces, ay?” he called out, but his amusement was stopped by one look from Kimi. “You must be wondering why I’m here,” Fernando continued, earning a couple of nods in response. “I know where your little friend is being kept.”

“Why should we trust you?” Valtteri called out, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the older Spaniard intently.

“I want to bring Hamilton down,” Alonso replied, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s ruined my life, in a way… I do enjoy retirement more than I thought I would, but I wanted to pass the family down to Carlos. It was his! It wasn’t Lewis’ to take! So, I want to bring down Lewis Hamilton and ruin the family once and for all, because apparently…” he trailed off, meeting eyes with Lando across the room, “my idiot of a nephew fell in love.”

“Get on with it, Alonso,” Kimi cut in impatiently, causing Fernando to roll his eyes.

“Always in such a rush. Fine, then. He’s holding him in a warehouse in La Colle which used to be used for keeping tyres. Hamilton is there at all times as is Rosberg, most likely Giovinazzi, too. Get all the evidence to finally lock the son of a bitch up.” He straightened his jacket, patting it down before giving the guys a little wave and leaving, alerting the alarms once again and causing Lando, who turned them off before, to groan as he had to repeat it.

“That’s one weird-ass guy,” Daniel commented, but continued to gather the gear for the party they were about to start. Pierre was pocketing his smoke grenades, making Daniel snort aloud and the Frenchman to hit him. “Gasmask,” Dan teased, poking Pierre’s cheek.

“Fuck off,” the Frenchman replied, going to help Valtteri and Kimi with the tactics while Max and Lando gathered evidence on the computer, planning to leave it with the mafia once they knocked the fuckers out. Lando would be staying in the getaway van as the eyes of the operation and since he wasn’t one to go into the physical fights.

In the warehouse in La Colle, Charles was struggling to keep his screaming at bay as Nico continuously whipped him; it seemed like something out of those weird fetishes but a lot more painful, as Charles sobbed and Nico grinned maliciously. The German got out a Swiss knife, placing it on Charles’ cheek before slicing slightly.

“You should have thought of that earlier, _Leclerc,”_ Nico spoke into Charles’ ear as Charles winced, begging for him to stop. “I’ve been waiting for this since Lewis first brought you into the family. Of course I’m not going to stop. Where are your little vigilante friends now?”

\- - - -

They left the van parked two streets away from the warehouse.

“Okay, so, we’re going to go in from all available sides. Simba and Gasmask, you take east – there should be a clean pass through the warehouse, try and get to Charles as quick as possible; HB and me will go through the south entrance and rouse the guys there while Baby Ice and the Torpedo take north and do the same,” Kimi instructed, ignoring the eyerolls he got for the nicknames. He pulled his white cowl over his face, Valtteri and Daniel doing the same while Max rolled his eskrima sticks.

The groups separated, not one of them speaking. As Kimi and Daniel entered the south entrance, they immediately got into a fight with Lewis’ men, Antonio Giovinazzi staring them down with a menacing grin so unfitting to the young Italian.

The same thing happened to Valtteri and Daniil – who wanted to help even though he had also retired, like Kimi – who stared down at Carlos Sainz, who looked at both of them apologetically as he went to scuffle around with them in case it all went south and they didn’t manage to bring down the mafia; it was a world like that, every man for himself, and it was all Carlos had grown up with.

A small part of him felt bad for charging at Valtteri, but an even bigger part was glad when the Finn managed to smash him into the ground, looking dangerous with the cowl pulled over his face.

“What are you doing?” Valtteri hissed into his ear once he pinned the young Spaniard down, holding a knife up his throat; Carlos looked at him with pleading eyes and Valtteri let out a sigh through his nose, knowing that the Spaniard was at war with himself. “You’re gonna have to choose, Carlos,” was all he muttered as Daniil took down the other guys, all of them knocked out around them. The Finn stood up, offering his hand to Carlos who gratefully accepted it.

“I made my choice eight months ago,” the Spaniard replied, frowning at the two vigilantes who shrugged at him, not knowing how to reply. The three of them continued down the hallways towards the room where Lando told them Charles was most likely being kept.

On the eastern side, Max and Pierre managed to enter without much trouble, easily knocking down two unlucky security guards who managed to find themselves there. They continued down to the central room of the building, both wondering why the hell did someone make such a twisted and complicated warehouse.

They met with the other guys in front of the door leading into the room of the central action. Max let out a sigh as Kimi kicked the door open, coming face-to-face with Lewis Hamilton himself. The Brit was grinning lopsidedly, swaying from side to side – obviously sober – as he pointed at the tenths of men behind him. “You, my friends, just signed yourself up for death,” he spoke, voice cold and unfitting for the expression he wore.

Max’s eyes found Charles, head hung low with dirt and dried-up blood clinging to his skin; the Dutchman felt his blood boil when he saw the gash across Charles’ cheek, making him tighten his grip around his eskrimas until his knuckles turned white.

The others weren’t doing much better, all tense and rigid as Lewis happily danced around Nico, who seemed to be contemplating all of his life choices; then Lewis’ eyes met with Carlos and his demeanour did a one-eighty as his eyes narrowed at the Spaniard. “You a traitor, too, huh? Shouldn’t be surprised, with who your uncle is.”

Carlos simply shrugged, shoulders tense as all of them waited for someone to make the first move.

Lewis rolled his eyes at one point, tired of waiting. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go at them!” he shouted at his men, who quickly began firing at the bunch of vigilantes; they all began ducking and hiding behind pillars, with Max and Dan going towards Charles while the others held the mafia off.

In the chaos that ensued, Max easily found himself at Charles’ side, cutting the ropes he was bound with; Dan had his back before he got flung into a scramble with Nico Rosberg, leaving Max to fend for himself. Biting his lip, the Dutchman pulled the Monègasque to his feet and steadied him, moving towards the back exit.

Halfway there, Dan came to help him, Nico left on the ground unconscious; Max gratefully gave Charles into Dan’s much stronger arms, opting to be the one guarding instead. As Dan was about to exit through the door, Antonio fired a shot in their directing, making Max jump as a shield, the bullet piercing the right side of his chest as he fell onto the ground.

Valtteri was the first to regain some form of consciousness after the sound of the gunshot, hitting Lewis across the head with his bo-staff, making the Brit fall unconscious. Kimi tackled Antonio, pushing the gun out of his hand but the damage was already done; the other goons of the Silver Arrows all laid knocked out throughout the warehouse, the standing vigilantes quickly handling them.

They rushed towards Max, who began twitching on the grimy floor of the warehouse; Pierre carefully held Charles in his arms as Dan lowered himself next to Max, trying to stop the bleeding as best as he could. “Come on, come on,” the Aussie muttered before yelling at the others to call the Commissioner.

“We have to get them to Seb,” Kimi muttered lowly, already calling his husband to prepare himself for surgery on Max. “Come on!” he rushed them, helping Dan carry a bleeding Max towards the vehicle they left in the alley, Lando waiting for them with a cloth he pressed against Max’s wound as he scowled at nothing.

Valtteri was the one to drive them back to the lair, the drive silent and the only sounds coming from Charles’ shaking form and Max’s coughing and gasping. Once they got there, Kimi and Daniil pushed Max onto a hospital bed and pulled him towards the operation room Seb had gotten built in the lair once he realized how often Kimi got hurt; Dan nestled Charles against his chest, carrying the boy into one of the rooms of the hideout and consoling him as he checked his wounds before Pierre came in, urging Dan to go help Sebastian with Max while he comforted Charles.

There was nothing that could prepare Daniel for the sight of Max unconscious on the surgery bed, connected to the monitor showing his slowing heartbeat. He wordlessly joined Seb’s side, working at getting the bullet out. “He’s lucky,” Seb spoke, showing where the piece of metal stuck in Max’s chest. “If it had gone a bit farther in, we wouldn’t be able to get it out.”

Daniel nodded, ignoring the pricking at his eyes as he helped Sebastian; once they were done, there was nothing they could do except for wait for Max to wake up, so Daniel left the room and gone to where he’d left Charles with Pierre. His heart broke at the sight of the petite Monègasque getting consoled by the Frenchman, tears streaming down both their faces.

The Aussie went to take a shower to clean the blood off himself. He leant his back against the cold tiles of the shower, feeling tears stream down his cheeks. “How did it all go so wrong?” he mumbled out, the question left unanswered as the Australian broke down in the shower.

\- - - -

There was nothing that could’ve prepared Christian Horner for the sight he saw at the abandoned warehouse; there were bodies laying there, a puddle of blood even and ricocheted bullet shells scattered over the floor. He could hear Alexander gasp from next to him, the young officer surprised by the aftermaths of the shooting that had occurred.

He walked over to the infamous British man, snorting at the state he was left in as he nudged him with his boot. Alex was walking around the place, scribbling everything he could see onto his notepad; Christian’s eyes set on the Thai man, eyebrow quirked in surprise. “Hey, Alex!” he called out, earning the younger officer’s attention. “You don’t have to note everything – we have the forensics team for that!”

“Alright,” the younger man replied, embarrassed blush covering his cheeks as he pocketed the notepad and bit his lip. “What happened here?” he asked instead, joining his supervisor where he stood over the unconscious mafia boss.

“Vigilantes and the mafia,” Christian answered the question, searching the room for something he knew the group had left behind. “Bingo,” he muttered as he picked up the bright-red folder where it laid on the ground, a messy _You’re welcome!_ written in the familiar chicken scrawl.

Alex looked at the folder curiously, “What’s that, Sir?”

“That, Alex, is all the evidence we need for locking Hamilton up once and for all.” A mischievous twinkle appeared in Christian’s eyes as he nudged his partner, “You know…” he began, trailing off and making Alex inwardly gulp. “You could help the ME’s apprentice with this case… I know you two have been getting awfully cosy lately,” Christian teased the younger man who groaned.

“Fuck me,” he whispered to himself, earning a chuckle from his boss.

“I’m sure George would like to.”

“That is so inappropriate, Christian,” a stern voice spoke from behind them, Claire Williams smacking Christian across the back of his head as both Alex and George blushed furiously. “This is no place nor time to discuss things like that, and there won’t ever be,” she scolded the man who couldn’t stop laughing, causing the woman to huff.

“I’m sorry, boys,” the Commissioner said. “Go and collect evidence together, I have an important matter to get to with Miss Williams.” They let out a sigh of relief and scurried off, leaving Christian and Claire alone. “If you find anything about you-know-who, leave the evidence in my office. Nobody can find out about them,” he turned serious in an instant.

Claire nodded, prepared to lose her job rather than give up the identities of the boys protecting the city when the police wasn’t able to.

\- - - -

Charles hasn’t left Max’s side since he broke out of the daze he got into; his hand clutched the Dutchman’s painfully, knuckles white as he prayed to God to let Max wake up and be his Maxy again. The Monègasque didn’t have any tears left in him to cry, opting to stare at his friend’s face in regret.

He felt someone sit at his side, a bottle of water getting thrust into his hands and he gratefully took a sip, moving his attention to Daniel who stared ahead of him in silence. The Aussie’s face was void of emotion, lips pursed tight and jaw slack as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered brokenly. Daniel shook his head, silencing whatever Monègasque was planning to say next.

“Just… don’t say you’re sorry. Not to me, at least,” he replied, voice equally as quiet as Charles’, but as emotionless as his face. Silence fell over them again, though not for a long time. “You should’ve told us, Charles.”

“And you should’ve told me,” Charles replied, the grip he had on Max’s hand tightening. “I found out, of course I did. I was waiting for you to tell me so then maybe I could tell you.” He swallowed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I know,” Daniel spoke, opening his arms for Charles, who gratefully crawled into the embrace. He let go of Max’s hand for the first time in the past hour, snuggling against his friend and brother-figure, seeking comfort. “I’m sorry,” the Aussie whispered into Charles’ hair. “Max would kick me for saying this, but he didn’t want to let you know… said he didn’t want to burden you with that. I agreed with him, partially.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered again, clutching onto Daniel. The Aussie rocked him, treating him like he would a child as Charles sought comfort more than anything at the moment; a tear slipped from the Monègasque’s eye, stinging the gash on his cheek and causing him to hiss, wiping the tear on Daniel’s shirt.

“He’ll be okay, don’t worry. He’s our lion,” Dan spoke softly, soothingly rubbing Charles’ back and trying to make both himself and the younger man believe his words.

Daniel left sometime after, aware that he had a shift at work to get to; Charles frowned, completely forgetting about his own work and deciding that was a matter he’d get back to. The Monègasque was left by Max’s side, back to clutching his hand. His head fell next to Max’s side, seeking solace from the unconscious Dutchman.

“I’m so sorry, Maxy.”

He fell asleep like that, getting woken up hours later by soft fingers carding through his hair. He hummed in satisfaction, leaning into the touch and causing the owner of the hand to chuckle. Charles’ breath hitched in his voice as he leant back, meeting Max’s amused, blue gaze. “Hey there,” the Dutchman spoke, slight amusement lacing his voice.

Charles couldn’t help himself as he broke down, sobbing quietly as Max rubbed his fingers through his hair, muttering soothing things to the Monègasque. He rolled over slightly, wincing at the painful stretch before patting the bed next to him; he repeated the action once he noticed Charles wasn’t moving and the Monègasque did as Max asked.

He cuddled into Max’s side, careful not to hurt Max as the Dutchman threaded Charles’ hair between his fingers; the younger man was crying, mumbling apologies into Max’s chest and Max let him, kissing his forehead in comfort.

They stayed like that for a while, Max comforting Charles as the Monègasque sobbed into his chest; it was how Dan found them hours after, both men fast asleep and cuddled together, making the Aussie smile to himself a little. _They’ll be okay._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr at altisssimozucca](https://altisssimozucca.tumblr.com/)


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